Masquerade of the Damned
by Emriel
Summary: How much can the mind take until it breaks? Some sacrifices should not be made, especially those that forfeit one's life to the enemy. Harry finds out how foolish Gryffindor bravery really is. Branches from COS. An HPLV fic. discontinued. under revision.
1. Justice I

_Usual Disclaimers Apply._

This story branches off from midway the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

**Masquerade of the Damned**

* * *

**Act 1**

**Justice**

_-n. A commodity served to a citizen as a reward for his allegiance, money and personal service._

* * *

_Tick tock, tick tock. The clock chimed. The world stopped._

The sudden stillness of the night did nothing to calm his frazzled nerves. It all became quite clear now, even through the haze. "I… I-" From below, he heard voices, calling out for him. He looked elsewhere. He took a sharp intake of breath. Her drunken mass still trapped him, and she wouldn't let go even if he begged her to.

"Breathe."

And he took a lungful of air. He pried the hands off his neck, and next came the body, falling in a soft thud to the ground. He wiped away the sticky fluid that had managed to land on his face. He edged away from the wall, away from her.

He forced himself to look anywhere but those glassy eyes of hers. He knew, that it wasn't possible for her to be looking at him, but he had the unnerving feeling that her dead eyes were following him, staring at his soul. He flinched when her eyes promptly shuttered close. The footsteps grew closer, pounding. The doors opened.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Harry pressed his hand against his chest, his breathing uneven, his heart pounding. The two screamed and rushed at him, overcome by the same rage that fueled all… _this_.

"D- Don't! Don't come near me or you'll end up like her!"

They still came, eyes mad in a way that promised him vengeance. And although he thought he might deserve it, he wished they would stop glaring at him like that. They soon did. The glasses broke, and he heard the wood splinter as both was thrown over the balcony.

_Why, why, why, why, why, why?_

Vernon and Petunia lay on the floor, unconscious. He pulled at his hair. This was a nightmare.

This wasn't real.

He would wake up right now and he would laugh at himself for ever thinking he would do such a thing. There was so much red! He was scared that he was enjoying this.

His unstable mind settled on kicking both bodies for good measure. A sick smile found its way on Harry's face while the front doors opened in response to his wishes. The cold night air sent his skin prickling. There was liberating freedom beneath all of it.

A loud crack to his right sent him stumbling to the ground. _Aurors? _They found out!He had to leave. Now! He had to- "CALM DOWN!"

Five wands were pointed at him. They were going to kill him. They were going to-

"Harry Potter! By the decree and order of the Ministry, you are hereby being arrested for the following crimes. Underage magic, homicide, and a breeching the Statute of Secrecy. You can either come willingly-"

"NO!"

He urged his magic to shield him, sending wave upon wave of defensive magic while he frantically willed his legs to move.

"Stun him!" Two Aurors were left standing. It would be so easy now.

He dodged curse after curse while running down the peaceful village of Surrey, his footsteps too loud. Thump. Thump. Thump. A car skidded to halt and crashed to the wall. "There he is!" His breathing sped up erratically. The wall beside him was shattered by a stray dull yellow colored light. He bit back a scream and scrambled away. He reached an alley and hid himself, hoping desperately that they wouldn't find him

"Where is he?"

The light on the post lamp exploded. It caught him by surprise and he tripped, landing heavily on his face. He used his hand to push himself up and took off across the playground, past a house, toward the next street.

Sadly, he never got that far. A red light hit him from behind. The world was flooded with inky blackness. His last thought was that of denial. Marge never died. A dream. Everything.

* * *

"**The Boy-Who-Lived, Turning Dark?"**

Ron's eyes went wide while scanning the article. "This is rubbish. Who would ever believe this shit?"

Molly choked on her meal and glared at him.

"Sorry mum, it's just that…" He trailed off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence without losing his appetite.

Ron looked back at the front page. A muggle was sprawled out on the ground. The chest down to the stomach was hollowed out as if it had exploded. The innards lay exposed. There were bones that jutted out at in a horrible angle. An insect or two flittered past. A few bits of flesh scattered here and there. Skin dangled along the edges, drenched. There was a lot of black- blood.

Harry would never do this. The thought itself made him feel ill. To the left, there was a photo of a straight jacket- clad figure, his face blood splattered. Harry was sitting at farthest part of the cell, glaring.

**…_Harry Potter as the wizarding Hero. The Ministry of Magic was met with pure disbelief when they made it known that Harry Potter was arrested two nights ago charged with of the following crimes: underage magic, failure to uphold the statute of secrecy and worst of all, murder. "I think the boy snapped. You know, fame and all." said an Auror who wishes to remain unnamed. What could have spurred our hero to commit such a crime? Upon further investigation, we found out that…_**

No appetite left at all.

_In an exclusive interview with Harry, he confessed that he didn't actually know why it happened. "It just did," Harry spoke quietly, "I thought she was going to kill me." The boy laughed at this. "I killed her instead." When asked if he hated his muggle relatives, the boy refused to…_

"Ron, I'm afraid that what the papers are saying are true."

…_might have another dark wizard on our hands. "He'd gone berserk, took down three of my men. If he hadn't been panicking, we would have probably lost him." said Frank Davis, Captain of the operation to retrieve Mr. Potter fomr his relatives. The muggles that had glimpsed the horrifying spectacle were obliviated and Harry Potter's relatives had their memories modified. "It was the best course of action." Davis followed._

_Harry Potter will remain imprisoned in the lower security levels of Azkaban at the time being for an indefinite date until the ministry court trials…_

Ron looked back at his father with a scandalized half-shocked glare. Arthur wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Well, part of it."

Fred and George, not normally interested in whatever the Prophet had to say, took the paper from Ron and he wasn't surprised to see the disbelieving looks that shot across their faces.

Molly scraped her plate a little louder than usual. She sighed.

The twins shared a look while Ron listened to his father ramble about his thoughts on the matter. _How can he just sit there as if he's not affected at all?_ Ron refrained from speaking, knowing that they all had their reasons.

"It was an accident. Harry's a good kid, we all know that." Arthur sipped his coffee and had a faraway look on his face. "There's nothing we can do but accept it." He paused and added as an afterthought, "The Ministry is holding the trial tomorrow."

Ron told his dad he was going to come. Fred and George said the same. The rest were silent.

"Of course, we all go. You better pack up."

He nodded and excused himself from the meal, feeling drained. He hoped Harry was alright. His feet led him towards the balcony. It overlooked the numerous pyramids that were scattered across the sand. There was blue above. There was yellow bellow. He wondered how something so plain became something extravagant. He was going to miss it. His thoughts turned back to Harry.

Ron could see the pieces floating around his mind. Killing was an unforgivable crime in the Wizarding world. Exposing themselves to muggles rendered punishment, expulsion even, in Hogwarts. He felt horrible knowing that there was a chance that Harry could gain a permanent pass to Azkaban in the process.

His musings were disturbed when a black express raven flew past him. It landed on the railings of the hotel easily, shaking the dust off its feathers. The gleaming eyes stared at him and for a while it stayed like that before extending its leg, simultaneously tilting its head back in what Ron thought was a challenge. Giving it a wary glance, he took the proffered letter and found out it was from Hermione.

He ripped it open while walking back towards the living room. Ron took a pack of owl treats from one of the numerous bags that scattered across the room and fed some to the raven.

"_Ron,_

_I don't know how to start this but I guess I hope you're doing fine. I'm fine and like I told you, Rome was great. I was on my way to France with my mother when the paper got to me. I still can't believe it's true but still, the nerve to call Harry a dark wizard!"_

Hermione rambled about what she thought about the whole case and caught herself when she admitted that Harry did hold a deep grudge against his relatives.

"…_This must be one of the reasons the ministry is giving to help convict him of murder. Honestly, that's why I prefer muggle law to Wizarding Law. The Ministry's too corrupt for its own good. _

_Since this is accidental magic, we can testify that murder was not Harry's intention. From the two types of Accidental magic, this falls more to Casus than Careo, that is, if Harry didn't plan the murder, which I'm sure he didn't. Harry's magic acted on its own because he thought he was in danger. Self-defense..._"

Ron stopped pacing with worry when he read that. He continued to read the letter. Hermione was more concerned with what was going to happen to Harry after the case_._ After pondering about it, he sighed.

"…_I'm aware that the ministry is going to hold the trial tomorrow. I'll see you there._

_-Hermione"_

He wondered how Hermione knew that. Ron grabbed a quill and pulled a parchment from his father's stack. He scrawled a note about him and his family being at the trial and added absentmindedly that Ginny's condition seemed to be getting better. By some miracle, the healers had managed to ensure that Ginny wouldn't turn into a squib as Snape had cruelly theorized. He joked about having his vacation cut off but "_anything for Harry_" wasn't it? He owed him that much.

He discarded the notion of sending his best mate a letter. Hermione kindly informed him that Harry would most likely not be able to read it. If he was _that_ worried, she said that Dumbledore would be there to back Harry up, "_If worse comes to worst."_

He quickly tied the message on the leg of the raven and it took off. He then stared at the bags on the sofa. "Riiight… pack."

* * *

The air was damp, musty, disgusting. He had been tricked. Harry gripped the sword tighter.

"What did you do to her?" Harry's voice echoed through the length of the chamber. The numerous statues of snake hissed back at him in amusement.

Tom poked the still face with Harry's wand. "To this girl?" Tom paused. It seemed as if he was at a loss to explain himself. Harry was not convinced. Tom shifted to his knees and tilted the pale face of the girl to the side. It would work better if the Weasel-ette was facing Harry.

"Answer me!"

Tom stood up and playfully shot Harry the same smile that accounted for his charm. Harry took a step forward.

"I'm draining her, Harry. So that I can live. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Harry had one moment of indecision, before lunging for the traitor in front of him.

Tom lazily waved the wand and it shattered Harry's left hand. The sword fell with a clang. The basilisk swung its tail, in an attempt to subdue his master's _friend_. Harry found his back colliding with Slytherin's statue. He slid unto the water, disoriented.

He tried to stand up, but fell to his knees soon after. Coughs raked his throat. He distantly knew that he had broken some bones.

It seemed that he had, once again,_ failed_ in whatever task that had been given to him. Fawkes trilled a soft, pathetic song that did nothing to help his condition.

He painfully watched the bird struggle. The Basilisk hissed at the new-born phoenix and used its massive tail to crush it. It laid a bloody splat on the floor, but it was still trying to stand up. Tom shot the _Avada Kedavra_ curse, disposing of the cadaver and sighed.

"Why did you do this?" Harry asked, in between coughs. He was aware that without his wand and the sword, he was at disadvantage.

"Why do you even ask?" Tom hurled back with that ever-sarcastic drawl.

Harry lowered his head.

"Harry, Harry, _**Harry**_." Harry felt himself shudder when he heard the slithery feel of his name in parseltongue. "_**You should have known better. Such a gullible fool you are, Harry.**_"

Tom flicked the wand and Harry heard his Hogwarts robes tear. It came with a particularly nasty gash starting from his collarbone to his hip. Tom was observing the boy struggle for breath, when a thought entered his mind.

Harry carried a piece of his soul, did he not?

_Then this victory could not get any sweeter_.

The green eyed boy knew he was going to die. He was going to bleed dry and Tom would enjoy every second of it.

"No, I don't intend to kill you _yet…_ Harry… _**that would be a waste**_… but I do intend to kill this blood traitor over here." Tom seemed lost in , his eyes glazing over with a gleam of madness.

"_Unless, of course..._"

Harry shook his head. He collapsed with a thud, the water splashing with him. He laid there, his head at the foot of the statue of Slytherin, while trying to gather his thoughts. The water slowly started to turn pale pinkish red.

There was this buzzing silence while lights flickered and spun. There was also pain, but that didn't compare to what his thoughts were shouting at him. Through the nausea, he could hear the faint whisper of Tom's words and those words kept him awake.

"No… _**no**__…__** don't kill her, please**__…_"

He reached out, trying to catch hold off something but his body wouldn't move. He hated feeling so helpless. It reminded him of the time he had spent locked in that horrid cupboard. There was no light. No food. There was scantily-maintained life. There was pain.

Tom smiled at the way Harry's hands seemed to be calling out for him. One he had broken so the boy would release the distasteful sword, while the other he would use for the ritual. He grasped Harry's right hand with a thoughtful look, noting that the boy was starting to turn paler.

He might have overdone it again – not that it mattered.

"_**Tom, please... don't do it."**_

"Resorting to begging, Harry? _**But, I suppose. There's a price though… would you be willing to die in her place?**_"

Harry bit his lips and tried to focus on Tom. _Take Ginny's place_...? He felt blood leaking out from him and ignored the sting.

"She would die Harry." Tom said with barely controlled glee. Harry felt helpless. Godric's sword was far from his reach. It was unsaid that he only had one choice in the end… at least one of them would live.

What did he have to lose? He wasn't afraid to die.

"I've given you a choice… now tell me – which is it?"

No…

"I… _Ginny… __**I want her to live**_…"

The world became a blur. He could see that Tom was drawing on the ground, using his blood. He was levitated on the center of the circle. Dark tendrils of magic tangled around him and it sunk deeper. They latched onto his consciousness.

"I will grant you your every wish, Harry."

Everything disappeared. From the pain and torment, to all the smiles, his friends, mentors, all his memories. All that was left was a shadow of what had been Harry. Without a name. Just a small will, a minute ounce of awareness. Yes. Yes. Yes.

And he was chasing after them. But they were gone. He gave up. Is this what they felt like? Was he dead? But he could still see. Who? The man was beautiful, and the man was touching him with a shiny thing, on his face, on his hands, everywhere.

He could not comprehend what it meant when something was carved into his flesh. There was water. He raised his hands to his face. There was water on his eyes?

His hand was held over his heart. A pair of lips touched his.

'**Pain, beyond anything he had ever known, tore open his soul. He could feel it in his eyes, taste it on his tongue. It came searing up from his feet, to his neck, his arms his hands, spreading in a wave of intensity that left him writhing on the floor. It lasted for what felt like an eternity. As sudden as it was, it came with the slow downward spiral of his thoughts. His memories came next, slamming into him repeatedly until he had everything back.**

_And yet he was still alive._

His eyes opened. He involuntarily closed them when the harsh glare of light hit him.

"Harry?"

That memory again. He would never forget it.

"Good, good. You're awake then."

He craned his head to the side, seeing a rough outline of the man that was talking to him.

"My glasses?"

He winced upon using his voice. He remembered. He had been arrested, hadn't he? Two days ago. Everything came to focus when someone placed his glasses back on him.

He observed the room, noting the heavy drapes that covered what he supposed were windows. The room was done with a touch of eastern and western styles. It was all chosen for its value, expensive and crisp. A lamp here, a desk there, a collection of books on the far left, several drawers to the far right, a huge ornate door between them, a coffee table before him, two long delicately embroidered couches, Persian rug. There were artificial lights hanging from the domes above. Paper planes were scuttling about. The room was impeccably spotless and polished. Despite this all, it felt bland.

"Where am I?"

He resisted another wince when he inquired of the man who he supposed owned the room. He was around forty, a bit fat, wearing a black cloak, club tie, and had gray hair. He had an air of pleasantness that was dampened by the sour taste of arrogance that probably came with the silver spoon inside his mouth. A _pureblood_? Harry thought he should know him from somewhere.

He tried to move but it soon dawned on him that he was stuck on the couch.

"Ministry of Magic, my office. Here, let me help you."

The man pointed his wand at him and Harry was surprised when the fastenings on the straight jacket were removed. He propped himself up, stretching his aching muscles and muttering a quick thanks.

The man smiled kindly. Harry watched him take a seat on the opposite couch. The man snapped his fingers and an elf appeared. He ordered a few snacks, some golden biscuits and pumpkin juice. He added, as an afterthought, his favorite rum and cold water. The elf bobbed its head enthusiastically and vanished with a pop.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself. I'm Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic."

'_So that's why he's so familiar.'_

"What do you want with me?" Harry knew he shouldn't be here. He should be inside his cell, waiting for 12 noon, tomorrow. The Minister opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the door opening. In came a striking man with platinum blonde hair and gray eyes that seemed to smolder in their intensity. He acknowledged Fudge with a nod pierced Harry with a stare.

"What's he doing here?"

"Don't be rude, Harry." Fudge shifted all his attention to the head of the Malfoy Malfoy clan. "Lucius. I'm sorry for calling you this late."

"Always a pleasure, Cornelius. I see you've told the boy?" Harry blinked.

The food arrived, and Fudge motioned for Malfoy to sit. Fudge shook his head.

"He doesn't know yet."

"I see."

"Sir, may I?"

"Sure Harry."

Harry pulled the sleeves of the jacket higher so that he could use both of his hands. He went straight for the water and felt

long awaited relief as his parched mouth was filled with blissfully cold liquid.

Fudge inquired after Malfoy's business and family. Harry tuned out the conversation. He took a bite of the biscuit and praised whoever baked it.

The two adults exchanged more pleasantries.

"You haven't answered my question." He didn't look at them but he could feel Malfoy's annoyance for interrupting their talk.

Fudge coughed.

"Forgive me Harry."

He poured himself a glass of rum and offered some to Malfoy who politely declined the offer. If Cornelius was offended, he didn't show it. Harry waited for a reply while biting his biscuit. He was beginning to think that all the food was for him. He wouldn't mind. He was _very_ hungry.

"You are aware that your trial will be held here, tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. He reached for another biscuit, drinking another glass of water afterwards. He couldn't stop the satisfied smile from spreading across his face. However, his mind had fleeting moments of doubt. What did the Minister want with him? He scoffed at the idea that this was just going to be a 'getting-to-know-you' chit-chat because he doubted that criminals had that privilege, especially with the Minister.

"Tell him Cornelius." Lucius prodded, lazily leaning on the chair. Fudges cleared his throat and Harry momentarily stopped eating to give all his attention to the man.

"You see, the council believes that you are innocent."

A pause.

"Then why did you arrest me?"

_Innocent? _He couldn't believe it. He had _murdered_ a muggle and they were saying that he was innocent?

"Ah, it's simply ministry protocol. The trial will proceed whether or not you think it is necessary." Fudge swirled the liquid inside his glass around. "All you have to do is accept, and admit to the crimes you have committed." When Harry thought about accepting the crime, he couldn't help but remember all the blood. He shuddered.

"What concerns me is where to place you afterwards." Fudge took a small sip on his beverage and put his right hand on his chest. "I would never allow you, as an upstanding member of this society, to be placed back with those muggles. They abused you and as such you will be removed from their care."

"You… You told them I was," Harry choked. "-_abused_?"

Fudge noticed the slightly hurt look the boy had and for once, he pitied the boy. "It is now a known fact. Nevertheless, the issue still stands and Lucius here has made a generous offer of temporarily taking over the task until you have made a suitable decision."

He heard a chuckle inside his head. Harry retreated a little before an idea sparked in his mind.

"How about emancipation?"

Fudge's smile wore thin.

"I'm afraid not. Even though you are the heir to the Potter fortune and as it is, the Potter Head, you cannot claim such rights until you are of legal age."

"The Weasleys then?"

Malfoy's mouth curled in distaste.

"Not a good choice. They are _poor_. The Weasleys have far too many children and they wouldn't be able to attend to all your needs. I have a list of candidates, if you are willing to leaf through it."

_ As if Malfoy would have been able to. _Harry groaned inwardly. He couldn't think of anyone else.

Harry did not move for a while.

"Would you rather stay in a muggle orphanage for the time being?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry's eyes dilated a fraction.

"I… I don't know."

"You have until tomorrow to decide." Fudge said, checked his watch and looked at Harry, then checked his watch once more, before draining his cup entirely. He filled the glass with the same reddish-yellow liquid.

The chips were down. _What are you going to do?_

A chill came over him when Tom's voice forced him to consider the long lasting effects of his ignorant decision.

_Take it_

"Wait."

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow. He watched the boy card his hands on his unruly hair. Oh, he enjoyed making the boy squirm.

"Yes, Harry?" Malfoy said. "I…" _You don't really want to stay in the orphanage and you don't want to go back to those muggles._ He paused, not quite sure what made him agree with Tom._ "_This is just temporary- am I right? So…" He trailed off, not willing to continue the train of thought. He would have to live with Draco. Harry's eyes flickered red for a moment and he could see the pleased smirk on Malfoy's face.

"Brilliant! I think I have the contracts here. Wait for a moment."

Fudge waved his wand and summoned three scrolls from one of his drawers. They flew over the table and spread open.

"Read the contents. If you want to change or add a condition then tell me and I will do what I can." Harry leaned over the table. He was taking another bite of his biscuit when he felt a small flare of pleasure dance around him. He grimaced and bit his lower lip to prevent a moan.

_He's happy. What the hell is he doing?_

'M.C. no. 612

**Ministry of Magic**

**Britain**

_(Approved under Article XV Section 5)_

This is a Magical contract that entitles a wizarding child the privilege of selective guardianship in any case that the parent, blood relative, godfather or godmother is or are proven insufficient to cater to the needs of the child.

The agreements (subject to change) are as follows.

The guardian is given the responsibility of ensuring the safety of the child.

The guardian must cater to the child's needs (clothing, water, food, lodging, education, etc. _See Article XV section 1-3 for more details_).

The guardian is entitled the right to act upon any decision he or she thinks is necessary for the child's betterment.

The guardian is not allowed to attempt sexual acts with his or her ward, nor is he allowed to do so even with the child's consent, due to ethical means.

The guardian is not allowed to give any form of undue punishments.

The guardian, unless given express permission of either the ministry or the child, is not allowed to use the child's financial assets (if there are) for any purposes except education.

The child is given freedom to declare his or her guardian unfit if the guardian violates any of the above agreements.

The child is…'

Harry scrolled down the form and noticed that the agreements were fair enough and none of them would do him harm. What the hell.

"How do I sign?"

Fudge tossed him a quill.

"It signs with your blood."

He wrote his name above the line and winced at the tiny ant like bites that spread across his right wrist. He nevertheless signed his signature above his name. He did this three times. He returned the quill to the minister, who signed his name as the witness, then Lucius, as his new _guardian_.

A thin cord of light settled around Harry and Lucius.

"All done then."

The scrolls rolled by themselves. Fudge gave one copy to Lucius and kept the other two on his desk. He took another look at his wristwatch and that was when Harry felt the world shudder violently.

"Time delayed potions, great isn't it?"

Their voices thundered in Harry's ears, a thousand times louder than normal, and he hastily clamped his hands on his ears. Lucius pointed his wand at him and Harry felt himself relax. He sagged back into the couch.

"What did you do to me?"

He growled accusingly at the two smug men.

"You have nothing to be worried about."

He whimpered at the words and he watched as a silvery liquid was poured down his throat. He choked midway.

"This is-"

"Insurance."

"-Which is perfectly _safe_."

No!

"Let's ease you in a more comfortable position."

_Tom!_

There was no answer.

He tried again. There was only a blank void. He searched for the tendrils that connected him to Tom. He tugged on them, but to no avail. Not to be deterred, he followed it desperately.

"Begin."

"Tom!"

He submerged himself within the dark essence and tried to tear apart the blocks Tom seemed to have forgotten to hide. He watched in slow motion as the minister's lips curled and froze. For a moment everything stopped, supended in time. The was a shift and the world swirled in a myriad of colors, then stopped. He had found Tom.

It dawned on Harry that they were not alone. Seven masked figures were kneeling on the floor, prostrating themselves around the person he was looking for. Graveyard. _Another ritual._

Tom cracked open an eye, his hand momentarily leaving the water it had been submerged in. A ghostly image was settled above. There was only muted silence.

"Why weren't you answering me Tom?"

He drew closer, past the cloaked men. What he saw next made him sick. There, in front of Tom, was a little girl. Her chest was carved open, and her mouth was open in a horrified scream. Before he could see anything more, the morbid scene was swallowed by the shadows.

Tom turned to him.

"What were you doing with her?" Harry whispered.

"There a few things better left unsaid. You wouldn't really want to know what I am doing with that filthy little girl, don't you?"

Harry flinched. Tom beckoned for him to come closer.

"Why were calling for me, Harry?"

"I wanted to… I"

He ignored the overwhelming urge to tell Tom the truth.

"Come."

Harry shook his head.

Harry stubbornly ignored the bond. It always lulled him into a false sense of security. Whatever daze his potion-imbibed induced in mind was promptly snapped by what he saw. He tried to will himself to disappear but somehow it didn't work. Why had he sought him out? Why had he called for him? Tom wouldn't be able to help him. He knew that.

Tom glided towards him. He backed away.

"Why are you so desperate to leave? I heard you screaming my name. Is my little Harry, dare I say it, scared?" Tom purred.

Harry stood frozen while Tom closed his arms around him.

"Calm down. Isn't this what you wanted?"

_To feel protected?_

He stayed there. His body betrayed him and his hands went around the man, holding him as if his life depended on it. Tom's presence slowly helped his wildly beating heart return to normal and he? -_hated _it.

Tom smiled cruelly.

"_**Leave**_."

He shut his eyes tight.

"Tell me your name."

"Harry Potter."

"Tell me your mother's name."

"Lily Potter."

He realized that his eyes had been open the whole time head been searching for Tom. They stung.

"Tell me your Father's name."

"James Potter."

They moved on with the most mundane questions. He felt like an outsider on his own body and focused his attention on the black feather quill that seemed to write everything that they said. There was also a small orb that was filled with swirling grey, blue and white wisps sitting atop the marble desk.

This detachment from himself momentarily allowed him to relax. He would feel the words come out of his mouth. He would use his tongue. Answer the question. That was all. At that moment it felt so good to answer them one by one. So good it was like chewing the most delectable candy. What was next? What was-

But that's what it was. Momentary.

"Is it true that you're a parselmouth?"

"Yes."

They already knew that.

"Is it true that you opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry fought desperately. The implications that surrounded the statement made him understand what this was all about. The minister seemed eager to hear the answer.

"Y…Yes."

Blackmail.

"Trust us Harry, this is for your own good."

It went downhill from that.

They confirmed his inner desires for murder. They asked him all the details of his abuse. They…

Once they were finished, Fudge fed him the antidote. It left the world crisper, brighter, his head clearer. Everything was too bright. It felt as if he was stripped naked. A whimper escaped his throat while he pretended that the wide circular buttons on the couch were the world's greatest discovery.

_So foolish_.

Fudge had the gall to help him up, but he swatted the hand away. Fudge was undeterred however, even for the small frown on his face. "We've decided to move you from Azkaban, such a dreary place. I've prepared a room for you at the top floor. Lucius will accompany you there."

_Room? Not a cell?_

Harry tried to stand up by himself but he stumbled forward. Lucius caught him just in time. The Malfoy aristocrat put his hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him.

'BASTARD'

He wasn't aware of it, but a steady line of tears were starting to fall from his eyes. Malfoy frowned at this but fixed a sneer on his face. Cornelius chuckled. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Good bye, Cornelius. Come with me, Harry." Malfoy replied, leading the distraught the boy towards the door.

"Remember, twelve noon. Yours will be the third case. Take Care, Harry."

* * *

The limping man was gone. She was still here though. The same dirt, the same bruises, the same dried blood, the same smell… and shackles. Her body was still bound. How long had it been? The chains lengthened themselves and she dropped to the floor. She allowed her tongue to lick the moist ground. It would come soon. A tiny sliver of light came from a small flap at the door. A tray of food was pushed in, her small source of light extinguished soon after.

She crawled forward, her throat aching for relief, mouth begging for taste. She was so near to it! But the shackles were straining and she screamed in frustration.

She strained her hands and choked while trying to grasp the tray. A dry chuckle came from her mouth once her hands managed to pull it back. She devoured the little bit of food that had been given. She soon finished. Time passed and she lay there, unmoving.

Her chains took her away from cold floor and held her back, plastered to the wall.

A small whimper escaped from her lips. She vowed that here would come a time where she'd be the one causing the pained sounds. She would all make them all scream! She could faintly remember it – faintly, but it was still there- the power she had felt and the absolute ecstasy that was the dark arts. As if on cue, a tingle came from her mark, and then it began burning.

She thrashed, banging her head on the wall in the process.

She knew the time would come soon. She was the most loyal of them all, and through her suffering, she would be rewarded. But she wanted to be there with _him_… it was the cruelest torture to be kept away from her master. She started choking on her breath and allowed the last bit of sanity she had left slip away.

"Aha… Haha… HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Moody wrenched his eyes from the sight. Bellatrix Lestrange joined the chorus of laughs and screams that echoed across the tower, each individually noise degenerating into a discordant sound. He was disgusted by it. However, although the inhabitants were all obviously insane, the prison wasn't enough. It wasn't enough punishment for all the lives the prisoners had taken. His hand involuntary went for his eye, remembering the incident – twelve years ago.

No… it wasn't enough.

He walked down the stairs, eyes well acquainted with the torches that accompanied his rounds, although he could never get used to the loss of his sense of time.

Albus wanted to interrogate a few death eaters and his request had been granted an approval by the board. It had taken a little less than a week. It proved how much power Albus held. Dolohov, Lestrange… He could not understand what the man gained from the knowledge the interviews gave him, seeing that none had any idea of what it was all about, although Moody could swear there was something. It made him wary. _For the greater good._

He kept walking along the stone corridor.

_Who would've thought the Dark Lord kept a diary?_

He reached the end of the corridor and took a moment to observe the cell of Antonin Dolohov when his magical eye sensed something peculiar. There it was again. The floor shook and he almost stumbled but quickly righted himself. Magic? _What are they doing?_

A large bang came from overhead, violently shaking up the entire tower, which brought him running back up. Paranoia surged through him. Something had gone wrong. He told himself that Azkaban was impenetrable. Nobody could enter and nobody could escape.

Soon enough though, he was proven wrong. He could hear the alarms sounding even from down below. He took out his wand from the holster on his arm and steadied his grip, opting for a dueling stance. A flock of dementors glided past him and he caught his breath.

His eyes saw movement from his right and he fired off a stunning spell – only to miss by a hair's width.

"No! No, Alastor! It's me!" The figure put his hands up in defense, panting. His eyes were closed.

He advanced upon the figure and barcked out a demand for his name and a question that only the person should know. For a moment, he was about to cast another curse when Dedalus Diggle answered his question.

"What happened here?" Alastor flinched when a cheerful sing-song voice came from the cell of the mad bitch. He hoped someone would strangle her. A stream of aurors came running down, passing them and hollering for orders – to find _him_. The things they shouted at each other caused a slight niggling suspicion to pipe in the back of his mind. Dreading the suspicion would be confirmed, he managed to ask,

"Who?"

"Black."

He swore again. Then, he turned to the matter at hand.

"What are you doing here?"

Diggle gave him a nervous but conspiring look. "I don't think this is the right place to talk about it. I'm here because of you-know-what." Diggle passed him a small pouch. "Open it." Moody gave him a weird look.

Diggle muttered _accio_ and a broom came rushing at him. Moody lopened the pouch, seeing that Diggle seemed impatient. More obscenities found their way out of Moody's mouth upon seeing what was actually inside. He stared shocked at the blood-stained locket, knowing who actually owned it. The pouch opened wider and a black ball fell to the ground, followed by a few miniature pictures. A chain dangled.

"Careful…" Diggle motioned and pointed his wand at the smoky black ball, one of the many troubling things they found at the site. He put them back inside the pouch and closed it. "The ministry kept this a secret. They didn't want the public thinking that they're back or that they're still alive. It would've been inconvenient …a wise move on their part." He gave a wry look. "Andromeda won't be happy…"

"They're finally moving." Moody said in an irritated undertone, in a way that clearly screamed that he refused to believe it.

"Yeah." Diggle fumbled for something in his pocket. "-been quiet for a long time… Here's the sock." Diggle tossed a worn sock and Moody stared at the offending choice of portkey while Diggle managed to chuckle. "You stay here. I'll check on Harry."

Dedalus gave him a salute and wished him luck before mounting his broom and saying goodbye. It occurred to him that if Diggle would be checking on Harry, he would have been going down to the bottom of the tower, but he could not see Diggle flying down as he was just a dot in the distance. It was true then that Harry wasn't inside the tower anymore. The minister was pulling strings again. It was not his problem though.

He continued climbing the stairs and ignoring the panicking guards and aurors. He wanted to know how Black had done it.

* * *

He let the boy leave the confines of his mind with the pleased smile on his face. Soon Harry would be completely seduced by the power of the bond and he would find himself devouring the price, all for himself. Back in the dark ages, the ritual was used to bond the willing slave eternally to the caster. It was only slightly different from Persephone's marriage bond, in a way that the caster was given complete control over the mind, body and soul of the slave, at the small cost of losing a portion of the slave's sense of reality, which he was perfectly fine with.

He resumed on the task at hand. He had attempted to do this once, and only once because the risk was too great, the recovery slow. Yet, he is attempting to do the same thing today, because it was simply the most efficient way of dealing with this particular obstacle, regardless of the consequences. He was willing to overlook the said consequences.

He wriggled his hand searching for the organ once more. The small girl stopped screaming when he finally removed the heart from her chest. She fell to the ground, dead. Tom thought that the child should be comforted by the fact her death would contribute to his revival.

It was almost complete. He closed his eyes and felt. The chanting rose higher, invoking a primal sense of wildness inside him. The touch melted onto his skin and the sweet smell of dark magic crept around him in a teasing manner, before viciously seeking entrance and sending his mind into a state of euphoria. There was infinite pleasure.

He shakily laid the still-beating heart upon the circular mass of water and waited for the circle to start glowing. The water rose higher and glowed green. A swirling mass of black appeared and it encased them as if a long lost lover, once more reunited, hiding them from the rest of world. Inside the dome, the world burned in fiery green embers.

A jolt told him he may now proceed. Magic needn't have words. He expanded his senses, spreading his awareness little by little. He flitted through grass, past forests, over mountains, searching, searching extensively for his kindred soul. It was like playing God, being omnipotent and omniscient.

He had once attempted this by himself and had only felt a brief wave of lust and longing but it had never been enough to make him lose control. However, the pure raw power he gained in offering a fresh sacrifice and intricately connecting seven other souls to him was a challenge he had never encountered before. Witches and wizards had gone mad, whether it was because of the power, or of what they learned or saw, he did not know. He did know it was an incurable intoxication, much more potent than any other, and he had proven his insanity for ever attempting it, not just once, but twice.

Beads of perspiration settled on his brow. It was difficult a task. He had allowed himself to act as the conduit to the pure mass of power that was being summoned. He briefly opened his eyes to see how the others were fairing and inwardly laughed when he saw they wore the same, if more obvious, arousals. Their eyes gleamed green, shot through with black and yellows. He longed to see another color, red.

The seconds seemed to slow, unhurried until-! A waning presence flitted past him. He moaned. The water flashed and it reflected an image of what he was searching for. He pulled on the image, drawing as much as possible, searching for a connection. He saw the water churn. The water boiled red. A wave of dark magic so uniquely like his met him and drew back, feasting in delight.

"_**Who dares?**_"

Tom laughed victoriously. He won! He could taste it in the air. The cogs were finally moving to his pace. Everything had gone according to plan. He fell to the ground panting from his breath while he felt his other soul leech from the magic that sustained the ritual. He recovered quickly and stopped his laughter. The screams of pain from those around him served a welcome music to his ears. The Dark Mark seared them, marred their skin, as clear as ever.

"_**It is I.**__"_

* * *

I got the definition from the Devil's Dictionary written by Ambrose Bierce, slightly altered but still the same. Yes, this is the second revision of the story since I had this sudden bang of inspiration to rewrite a few and add some, all because it wouldn't leave my mind. I sincerely hope this wouldn't happen again.

If you are wondering what the last scene was all about, it's called "scrying". It allows a person to locate, watch, or, in some occurrences, grant some form of communication between two beings. I am basing this from what I've read from other books and sources and added more details.

Thank you to my betas, Crim and Anna.

Constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated.

* * *

**Word count:** (approx) **7515**

**Draft Started: **March 3, 2008**  
**

**Draft finished: **April 29, 2008

**Revised: **May 10, 2008


	2. Justice II

Usual Disclaimers Apply

* * *

**Masquerade of the Damned**

* * *

**Act 1**

**Justice**

_**-n. and often the good suffer, and the wicked prosper, and one hardly knows which is more annoying.**_

* * *

The worst had yet to come.

He did not need anyone to remind him of that. Stifling anger reared its ugly head, and a flurry of unbidden thoughts chased themselves around Harry's brain. For a second, his senses were completely overwhelmed, and he was filled with a rage so powerful that he could almost _taste_ Malfoy's blood. _Teach him to tear open my mind-_ He pushed the man away and stumbled into the room. Just as the door closed however, he saw Lucius smile. _Devil -_ and by then, fear had crept up his spine. The smile continued to taunt him, even now. The small secret they shared…

The suite was as bland as everything in the ministry. Beautiful yet detached. It wasn't really there. The same could be said with all else. That it was just a dream that he'd sooner forget, or if not, wake up from. What exactly had Tom done to him?

Harry entered the en-suite bathroom, by now so immersed in his thoughts that he barely registered the décor. He approached the large bathtub, turning the tap so that scalding water began to fill the large tub up. He didn't bother to turn on the cold water.

Steam rose up and swirled around the bathroom, as if to calm his raging emotions. Harry felt a sudden, perverse urge to laugh at how fast his world had turned upside down when he made that deal with Tom. Back then, it was a choice of who was to live or die. He had gotten a great deal more than what he bargained for. _Take her place?_ That was the only thing he could remember. Everything else was a flurry of movement. _And Lips._

Harry submerged himself in the water and let the air escape his lungs in big bubbles of air. He told himself he hated the other raven-haired teen. It was just-? _Unfair_. Tom forced him to feel things that weren't even his to begin with. Why else would Harry be running back to him when he was scared. The small thought made him choke.

Harry brought his hands to his face and gasped, breathing heavily. He swore to himself that he'd fight this as long as he could. Harry pushed his head back to lean against the edge of the tub and pondered if there was any meaning to all this.

As a child, he was never one to submit to the whims of others. Especially if he knew it wouldn't do him any good. But this really made him think. He curled his fingers on his hair, pulling it gently. He knew. It was fate laughing him. His fingers dug unto his palms, and fire crawled on his scalp. It was pain. It was as if the world disappeared and all that remained was that single thought. He slowly loosened his hold on his hair.

A puppet. A tool. That's what he was all in all …and if he was going to suffer just because of such an insignificant thing - just because he happened to have that lightning-bolt scar on his forehead…

The questions slowly ate him and everything led into a dead end. The dead end was his life. Yes. He would have… He should have died that night. It was his chance and he didn't take it! He was so tired of this, being pushed and pulled and played with.

Overcome, Harry grabbed the many bottles that rested on the edge of the marble tub and threw them at the wall.

The bottles shattered.

_Why?_

Jasmine, lilacs and oil spilled on the floor. Fragments of glass splayed on the ground. He trailed his hands on the floor and idly picked up one of the broken pieces. He held the glass in front of his face. It was beautiful in the flickering lights of the room. The broken pieces reminded him so much of his life. So much of what could have been and what was.

So beautiful. That he had to wake up in this little fairy tale, telling himself that in the end, bad guys die. The world won't stand for them. Certainly the good ones would all stand together and fight them. He didn't have to do it all the time. And it'll be beautiful. So beautiful. Never ending. But first, he wanted to –had to– break hem all apart – until they were all like him, with broken little pieces. Pretty ones with jagged edges that bit into skin when attempted to be pieced back together.

_Someone. Anyone._

The sharp edge met flesh.

* * *

His gloved hands were holding the ladle in a tight grip. He stopped, roughly removed the gloves, and wiped his sweaty hands, proceeding to glare at the unfinished potion as if everything was its fault. As ridiculous as that was, he could not do anything but such. Even he was allowed his moments.

He'd been stuck in-between for years, and _now_ he was slowly starting to realize that he made a mistake, that he should have chosen the Dark Lord. At least with the Dark Lord he knew what to expect, even if the Dark Lord was- what was that inane muggle saying?- '_Trigger happy.' _Dumbledore, on the other hand, made decisions by himself and pulled at everyone's strings – manipulating them as he pleased without a care for the repercussions. Anything went, as long as it was beneficial for the greater good.

'_For Salazar's sake, a MARAUDER, as a teacher in Hogwarts!_' It was a preposterous notion, and it no doubt would be the death of him, if not his students. To top all that, a werewolf! How would the students react if they found out?

He should have expected this. The man had a half-giant as their Care of Magical Creatures professor. What was next? A Goblin? A Centaur? A merman? A faun? A Vampire? He wouldn't put it past the old man to attempt such. Severus hadn't had the heart to tell Albus that he was a fool for trying to improve the relationship of magical creatures and wizards.

He had simply promised to think on it, and not attack Lupin. Or poison his Wolfsbane. '_That is… as long as the werewolf behaves himself_.'

He could throw in some silver, if the need arose – and it would all be blamed upon the sad unfortunate circumstance. Silver wasn't a poison – to most people. He was a Slytherin after all – he'd have to make the best of what he had and use it to his advantage.

The knowledge placated him a bit. Besides, the werewolf would be indebted to him. Albus wouldn't be able to call in his favours… _for a while_. He would let him brew in peace until the dead of the night and all he had to do was provide vials of Wolfsbane.

Was it worth it? Yes. If it would keep Albus away from him for _even_ just a little while, then, yes. That would give him enough time to assure the demise of this would- be colleague of his.

Severus promised himself a drink later. There were some things that couldn't be cured by potion alone.

He grabbed the ladle and stirred the potion clockwise, waiting for that anticlimactic puff. He let it simmer for a few stiff intakes of breath, waiting until the fumes settled before adding crushed pixie eyes. He waited for the bubbling to reach the edge of the cauldron before stirring it once more, this time counter-clockwise. While doing this, he ground the moon flower petals on the silver mortar, adding them when they finally wrinkled to dust.

Seconds later, as if to add to his ever growing headache, he felt the characteristic tingle from the dark mark and wondered who on earth decided to call this time – knowing perfectly well that only the Inner Circle knew how to summon through the dark mark and of course, the Dark Lord himself. He weighed in his mind the pros and cons of attending and steadily decided that it was certainly much better to be left brewing his potions rather than partaking in some inane meeting about some equally insignificant plot to probably overthrow the ministry and kill Harry Potter. He knew that the Death Eaters were useless without the Dark Lord. Although, seeing the more recent events, the wizarding village in Wadspurt was clearly a message that they were far from useless. He had a hunch, but it would do him no good to dwell on theories that were long buried in the past.

He took his vials and set them upon the rack near the acid green potion, one of the vilest he ever dared. This one could very well render the person senseless by slowly eating away the brain. It was not reversible.

Given a few droplets, it could probably sharpen one's eyesight for a few months – to that of an owl's …_incredibly useful- _The other potion is complete.

The Amortentia.

He could not help but cringe in disgust at the remembered smell of burnt blood, the hum of dark magic, and a trace of Jasmine in the air.

Jasmine brought back a lot of regrets. He still couldn't forgive himself for her death.

Pushing the depressing thought aside, he turned back to his potions. Snape took the potion vials filled with orange, pink and acid green liquids back to the storage cupboard. Glancing at the _perdo animum_ potion, he felt his eyebrows nit. _Potter._

It was a difficult potion to make, one that even fifth years had trouble brewing correctly. If he could remember accurately, Potter had been able to brew one perfectly. Severus as been forced to give an E, although the potion was worthy of an O. It was one of the many enigmas surrounding the Potter brat. He knew that so many of last year's mysteries remained unresolved. There was a time when he was almost happy that the boy lost his Gryffindor streak, although, just to spite him, the Chamber of Secrets debacle proved otherwise.

He could remember the headache of brewing potion after potion just to make sure that James godforsaken spawn didn't die because of his own stupidity. If it weren't for his conscience, he would have left the boy for dead.

But then, Dumbledore confirmed that Dark Lord was dead, as was his pet snake. Now, thinking upon the brat and his latest mischief, if he could call it that, was bringing him another headache. Trust Potter not to let him breathe a single sigh of relief. He knew it had been a rather foolish idea to entrust the boy to his muggle relatives, but who was he to question Albus. Now, Potter had managed to land himself in Azkaban, in just a few weeks out of Hogwarts!

He muttered a spell to remove the stains on the table. He then picked up his cauldrons, but abruptly dropped them in surprise, his eyes widening ever so slightly. The mark stung! Severus hurriedly pushed back his left shirtsleeve. There, happily wriggling on his arm was the snake that bound him to him, his _master_. Through his momentary panic, he couldn't help but tell himself wryly that he had finally gotten his wish. He picked up the cauldrons and piled them to the side in a stack, one on top of another, before glaring at the offending mark – hoping it would top moving so he could halt all thoughts of chopping the appendage off. It would be a futile effort however, he knew.

He left the confines of his potions laboratory, his footsteps hurried, until he broke into a run. He braced himself when he reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office and spoke the password.

Once the gargoyle allowed him passage, the sound of multiple anxious voices reached his ears.

"The Ministry noticed the saturation of magic in the village, so they ordered it to be investigated. We've sent Ted and his team but we haven't heard from him since. All we found was his locket… and I'm afraid that he's most probably dead…"

"Don't be so hasty to draw to such grim conclusions, Amelia. We might never know."

"How sure are you that they are the ones responsible?" A man asked gruffly. "The Dark Mark was there, you saw it for yourself Arthur."

"But Albus! A whole village! Just in one night? How is that possible?" A hysterical voice cried.

"Oui, I agree with zat mademoiselle. I don't understand zis. You insist zat zis eez ze Dark Lord's doing, non? Chié difficile!" Snape chose that moment to enter. He seemed to glide, his robes billowing around him. Murmurs followed.

Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "Ah, Severus. You've come to join us?"

The potion master ignored all the disdainful looks shot at him. Half of the order members inside the circular office looked at him in askance of why he was there, when he was clearly uninvited. Well, it would make things easier.

"The mark is back." Without further ado, he pulled up his sleeve. Gasps of every kind followed. Snape had a very hard time suppressing the rather cruel smirk on his face.

"There's yer proof."

* * *

Hysteria hit the Minister's office that very night. Fudge had been enjoying the quiet of his office when his secretary had burst in, shouting something he could not quite catch. However, the word "DEAD" somehow caught his ears. His eyes swerved back to stare at the paper. It must be _Black._

He allowed himself to breathe for a moment, before shouting at the inept fool of a secretary he'd had the misfortune of hiring.

"Who died for Merlin's sake? Slow down, I can't understand a word you're saying." The woman wiped both her hands on her robes and adjusted her glasses. "It's Harry Potter sir. He tried to kill himself."

The minister blanched. He stood up and the woman stared at him dazedly. "The alarms had gone off and we came upon the boy bathing in his own blood. Merlin… Merlin… the poor boy." Fudge approached the woman and shook her back to her senses. Something told him that the fool was telling the truth.

"Where is he?" He demanded, his voice a little higher, a little louder than he had intended. "Where is he?" He repeated again. His heart thudded wildly against his ribcage. He wanted to make sure that come tomorrow, he would still be in office. The prophet would have a field day. 'Harry Potter! DIED in the MINISTRY!' The woman squeaked pathetically. "He-he… St. Mungo's."

His knees wobbled and he had to grip the table to steady himself. He then cursed. He'd been told that the boy had been unstable, but he let him out of Azkaban. He had tried to make the boy feel grateful and indebted, and now the brat had tried to repay him by attempting to kill himself!

And then, the fear overrode the anger. _What if somebody finds out?_ He… he had to take this into his own hands.

He threw the piece of paper that reported Sirius Black's escape towards the fire and told himself that he could do this. _Stay calm._ His fingers took his coat from the hanger. The secretary was looking at her hands, red hands. _The brat!_ He refused to have his position taken. This might be Potter plotting against him. Lucius said as much and told him to watch for whatever the boy had in mind. He just hadn't expected _this._ It had gone too far. If it were any ordinary boy, he would have ignored it, but this was the boy-who-lived. His voice shook when someone finally answered his call.

"Rook! I want _that_ order done right now… I- I will meet with you shortly." The day had been a total disaster. He fixed his loosened tie and assured himself, that he looked good.

"Dolores! Yes." He ignored the sweet girlish voice and cut off the woman from her speech. "You've heard of what happened this night? Yes? Do me a favour then, yes, and by any means necessary, make sure that this remains a – A secret."

There were times when rum had proven itself useful between work and problems such as these. He knew he would have fainted from the mere knowledge alone – yet he hadn't. Bless him. Dolores made a noncommittal response, and from the back of his mind, he knew he growled out, "Just do it!"

He'd have someone's head after this. Yes, he would fire someone tomorrow. _This incompetence can't go on any longer!_ If everyone had just done their jobs correctly, none of this would have happened. Grabbing the floo powder, he set off to visit St. Mungo's. The portraits whispered to themselves, affronted by the facts and yet gossiping among themselves, despite Dolores' best efforts. It was the talk of the night. She had managed one thing though; bribing the prophet to keep things under wraps at the expense of making the trial public to everyone's eyes.

* * *

The jumble of bodies seemed synchronized in such a disjointed manner that from afar it would seem as if they were not but colours grinding and gnashing at each other. There was in fact, life, and the clicks of heels and hisses and voices and mutters formed music echoing back and forth. Walls seemed to breathe and constrict until the jumble was forced to squeeze through, when in fact they were all but getting smaller. It was a very busy day at the ministry.

Why? It had been announced in the paper that, the Boy-Who-Lived would be tried in court for murdering his muggle aunt. And on top of that that, the minister had announced the international bounty hunt for one Sirius Black, who had inadvertently escaped prison the day before.

There was an on-going bet on whether or not Harry Potter would be freed. Whichever was the case, Draco couldn't care less because he knew what was going to happen. His father, of course, kept him informed, but Draco was increasingly intrigued as to why, besides the fact that Potter was the bane of his existence and would remain as such...

He flashed a smirk in time for one of the photographers and followed the lead of Dolores, his father's acquaintance. They walked down to the lower levels of the ministry floors, where they took a small passage that saved them from the wrath of those swarming bodies.

"The trial might be delayed you say? Do enlighten me."

His father's voice carried out the dark passage. Dolores paused in her tracks, tapping the walls with her wand, in time with the click of her heels. "Yes, the minister had a small problem last night. Harry Potter tried to kill himself with a piece of shattered glass." She then murmured something of a curse to the 'attention-seeking-brat'.

Lucius raised his eyebrow at this, but remained impassive. "Ahhh." The walls rearranged themselves and light passed through.

Others weren't so fortunate as the Malfoys to have 'acquaintances', and such was Hermione and Ron, who had wanted to come early, yet still had to get through the swarm of people before they could reach the large towering doors of the Wizengamot's court room.

"Whoever had the idea to make this hearing public was completely out of their mind." Hermione heard Ron agree with a small noise at the back of his throat. They walked past the doors and found themselves opening another smaller set, in which Hermione had to stop to admire the room. It strongly reminded her of the opera houses that she and her mom visited in Rome, and Professor Snape's dungeons. The floor sloped downwards and there were a couple hundred chairs that formed a half circle of about twelve rows. She could find three isles that led to a set of stairs. Further down, past a shimmering barrier, there were three rows of similar chairs. Another floor below that, the Wizengamot sat in a cluster. In the middle, the minister was sitting on an elevated podium. At the very center of it all was an empty chair.

She took a step forward but a hand kept her from moving forward.

"Name?"

The stern voice to her right surprised her. "Hermione Granger, this one here with me is Ron Weasley."

"Take this and show it to that Auror." A hand pointed to a man standing in middle of the isle, before the barrier. Hermione eyed the piece of paper before nodding to herself. She and Ron took the small strip of paper, which promptly slid around their wrists, and watched in fascination as the paper seemed to turn into ink where a silvery thread wisped around.

"Come on Ron."

"What is this?" Ron found himself muttering.

Hermione replied, "It's what they call a magic stamp. It verifies your magic and your identity, like an id." Ron nodded. They passed the isle and showed their right wrists.

The Auror let them sign their names in the book and for a moment, the barrier before them shivered.

"You may pass." gesturing at the barrier.

"Hey look, I can see Malfoy over here." Ron pointed to one of the chairs on that level and abruptly scowled when the Malfoy heir sneered back at him.

"Ignore him Ron." Hermione muttered, pulling the boy towards the shimmering white veil. Upon passing through, they both shivered from contact, feeling as though they had been doused with cold water.

They were blessed however with what seemed to be silence, which was not much seeing an insult was immediately hurled towards them.

"So, it's the Mudblood and the useless sidekick again. Come to the trial just to see Potter get shipped to Azkaban?"

"Hush Draco." Lucius chastised his son but sent a rather unfriendly look back at the two Gryffindors. The muggleborn girl could only tighten her grip on her friend's arm and was rewarded by a grumble of pain. The Malfoy heir chuckled at their inelegant antics.

They were joined by the rest of the Weasleys and some other people who Hermione could not recognize on sight. Almost most of them were strangers, a few introduced themselves. Amongst them were Andromeda and her daughter, Nymphadora, who piped, "It's not _Nymphadora. _Call me Tonks!" A tired looking man with auburn hair introduced himself as Remus Lupin, their new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher and Neville had come together with his grandmother.

They were briefly surprised at the sight of two goblins and a suspicious looking group who held themselves in a bizarre manner. Hermione's unstated question was answered when somebody hissed the word "vampires" under his breath. As the witches and wizards poured in, the chairs became packed until some where forced to stand behind from the upper rows.

The doors closed. Minutes trickled by until one could feel the agitation, with all the murmurs and hisses of displeasure. The minister then pointed his wand at his throat and muttered the _Sonorous_ charm.

"I must give my apologies if we are running behind schedule…" came Fudge's booming voice. "We are waiting for Mr Potter who is apparently suffering from some self-inflicted injuries. I assure you that the trial will in fact commence within an hour." He allowed himself a small smile and let the message sink in. Let them wonder how unstable their hero really was. Ruining Potter's credibility came second to his agenda. The first was making sure he would deal a crushing blow to the boy's psyche. With all the trouble he'd encountered just to make sure things went right, they'd gone wrong, because the damned boy wouldn't cooperate.

He held the cards today, he reminded himself. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. After thinking about it, with the help of large doses of calming draught, he had surmised that things would be simpler if he manipulated this certain truth against Harry Potter, which was what he did. Publicizing this trial was a good move after all, although his plans changed. It would be a little, no, far from the friendly one he had intended.

The minister pressed his hands together once more, glancing back at his companions and whispering something to Wenlock, who nodded her agreement.

It was certainly clear that the self-inflicted injuries were not in any way 'small', _if_ Harry Potter was still being treated for whatever injury he had acquired. The reaction was divided. There were those who didn't care as long as the trial was going to proceed and there were those who simply hated the fact that they were supposed to wait for what seemed to be an eternity.

Then there was that small group who sat concerned by the fact that Harry Potter had injured himself. They knew that Harry wouldn't have enjoyed his brief stay in Azkaban. Anyone would have snapped within a week, and it certainly was not a place for a child, a barely thirteen year old boy, especially one with memories that were more horrid than those of a grown adult's.

The doors opened and Hermione breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Albus Dumbledore strode in, followed by Severus Snape and a few other people who she didn't recognize.

Their Headmaster, unlike all of his companions, strode inside, taking an opposite turn and nodding to an Auror, before being led down to the lowest level, at the very middle of the gathering.

"Albus Dumbledore. I'm glad you could make it."

Albus gave the minister his greeting, and it was impossible to tell if he meant it, or was simply complying with the prerequisite.

The doors of the court room once more opened, and Harry Potter shuffled in wearing a white hospital gown, attended by two medi-witches and surrounded by four Aurors. Lights danced dizzyingly around the room as cameras flashed.

"Harry!"

Hermione called, but it seemed the boy couldn't hear her. He neither batted an eyelash nor made a motion to indicate that he heard his name being called. He just seemed forever intent on staring at his feet as they dragged him down to the last floor.

"Harry."

It was Dumbledore's voice that made him look up for the first time, and he blinked. He stared back at those blue eyes and silently pleaded for help.

"Do not worry my boy, we will get through this."

Harry nodded, and broke free from the medi-witches and hugged the man. Dumbledore patted the boy's back and whispered soothing words. They broke free when the minister cleared his throat.

Dumbledore looked away and gave the minister an inquiring stare.

"Before we begin, Mr. Potter, if you would take a seat. That is what the chair's purpose is, after all."

Harry did as he was told. He swatted the hands that came to support him and walked towards the aforementioned chair. Taking a seat, he released a surprised gasp when his upper half was bound tightly and his ankles got shackled to the ground. Bars then shot up from around the chair forming a cage and Harry gasped out loud.

"What _is_ this?"

"So he speaks. That is what we call _precaution_, Mr. Potter, since we cannot trust you not to injure anyone, including yourself. Now," Fudge had nodded to himself and a scribe poised his quill over the parchment. Those of the Wizengamot trained their full attention on the boy, whether in interest or malice, no one could tell. Dumbledore opted to conjure himself a chair, of which the Minister had sent a scathing glance.

"This seventh of August, we are all gathered here to witness the public trial of one Harry James Potter, a resident of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. His offences: failure to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy together with the decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, and, homicide."

Harry swallowed. "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Dolores Jane Umbridge, senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Court scribe, Sonia Merle Wenlock."

"Witness for the defense: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded, and it would have seemed that the old man was confident, although he wasn't. The minister coughed before flicking open a page and reading the contents.

"The charges against the accused are as follows, deliberately using his magic with the plausible intent of murdering his muggle blood relative, Marjorie Dursley," Harry shook his head.

"No I-"

"And succeeding in doing so, with full knowledge that such use of magic risks the exposure of the Wizarding World, thus an offence under paragraphs C and D of the Decree of Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy.

"You are aware that in performing magic in front of a muggle, you are risking the exposure of the wizarding world, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, but that hardly is-"

"And yet, instead of merely complying with the ministry, you led them into chasing you where eighteen muggles had seen you perform magic, causing a muggle car to crash in the process?"

"I-"

"Are you aware of the wreckage that was left due to your actions?"

Harry could not open his mouth this time.

"However you claim that this is all just an accident?"

Harry could only bite his lower lip and glare at the minister.

"Yes. It was just an accident." The Wizengamot muttered to their selves at this, wondering if the boy was brave, ill-mannered, or just plain idiotic. The minister raised his hand, telling them to let him speak first, before they voiced their thoughts upon the matter. Madam Bones shifted in her seat, while Dolores Umbridge, smirked.

"But it has come into our knowledge that you were _abused_ by your muggle relatives. Was this aunt of yours– Marge was it? – one of those who abused you as well?"

Harry kept silent. The rest of the courtroom however, exploded in whispers over the alleged abuse that the boy suffered under his relatives. Before the Minister could call for order, the room fell quiet as Dumbledore jumped to Harry's defence.

"Cornelius, I've argued this with you. It is outrageous, for you to imply that Harry deliberately wanted to murder his aunt."

Fudge smiled. "If Mr Potter had no qualms of injuring himself, wouldn't it be the same for others?"

"No! It's _not_ like that. You know already!" Cornelius leaned, content at observing the boy struggle at his bindings.

Dumbledore paused. What had Harry meant by _that_?

"She was choking me, and I couldn't do anything! …May -maybe it would really have been better if I had died that day, and now we wouldn't be having this-"

"Harry." Dumbledore commanded, before the boy permanently engrained himself as a suicidal lunatic in the Wizengamot's eyes.

The court scribe scribbled away, and it was that sound that rung for a few terse seconds until the Minister spoke. "But you have not answered my question Mr Potter. Did Marjorie Dursley abuse you or not, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"No? Speak, boy. So we can hear you."

"No, she didn't."

The minister seemed amused. "However, is not suffocating you another sort of abuse Mr. Potter? If she had treated you like this, wouldn't it be natural for you to seek perhaps, revenge to answer to her actions?"

"But I wouldn't kill her! I swear!"

Harry struggled against his bindings and bowed his head. From above, the reporters were having a field day while more and more people sympathized with the boy.

"However, she _is_ dead now Mr. Potter. There is no changing that fact, and thus you have to accept the fact that you have indeed murdered Marjorie Dursley."

Uproar came from the stands, and the Aurors were forced to brandish their wands and shoot sparks at the ceiling, chasing the noise away.

"I- I m-murdered… Aunt Marge?"

Hermione had to pity the small voice that Harry used and she gripped Ron's hand into her own. For a moment, Harry looked absolutely defeated, his green eyes dull, hair matted and unwashed, and skin pale and unhealthy looking. For that moment, he looked as if he had lived a hundred years, and the bandages peeking out from under his shirtsleeves seemed hostile and over-white, displaying to the world all of Harry's weaknesses.

The moment passed, and Harry looked up at the Minister, his eyes alight with righteous fire.

"No. She deserved it."

"Harry!" Dumbledore discretely hissed.

Harry met the minister's eyes. "Anyone would have done the same. Even if I had wanted to kill her years ago, I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't been trying to kill me."

It was as if at that moment, he was back into that corner, his wand far from his reach and all he could think of was how he didn't want to die at the hands of the woman who had insulted his parents. No.

"I didn't mean it." Harry started thrashing around. Anger rose, swift and destructive, overriding even the desperate feeling of hopelessness and the bars around him started to swing and groan.

"I didn't… I didn't."

Dumbledore chose that moment to intervene. "I believe that the boy was only acting in his own defence. There have been several cases in the past that a similar thing has happened."

The minister frowned. "But never before has anyone died. I am not even sure that Marjorie Dursley was attempting to kill the boy that day. We have no witness, no proof that the boy is in fact telling the truth."

"Then why not submit him to veritaserum? The accused has the right to use it, if I'm not mistaken."

The Wizengamot seemed appalled at the idea. "Surely you would not force a child to drink such a potion when he is not even of age, Albus." Fudge challenged.

"If that is what it takes to prove to you that this boy is innocent then I have no qualms about this decision."

The Minister contemplated the situation pensively.

Dolores chose that moment to clear her throat. "Hem hem." The toad like woman stood up and gave Harry a sickly sweet smile before doing the same to Dumbledore, who remained unflappable.

"It has come to my knowledge that it was you, Albus Dumbledore, who entrusted the boy to his muggle relatives with prior knowledge that they would have loathed any semblance of magic, and thus the boy. You knew of the abuse Mr. Potter was suffering but you neither helped him nor did you inform anyone else, particularly the ministry, of what was happening.

"If you were truly concerned about the boy, you would have done something before this happened. Your inadequacy and lack of morals astounds me. Now you want to submit this boy to veritaserum, without any care for the unpleasant side-effects, which I'm sure, would not sit well with his present condition."

"That was unnecessary, Dolores." Fudge said, but inwardly pleased that Dolores had mentioned that small detail. Dumbledore shot him a scathing look, but quickly slipped a kinder expression on his face.

"The condition that would have been prevented if the ministry had properly taken care of him.

"And yet-" Dumbledore started once more, "Here you say to me that I am inadequate, that I lack morals when you," He continued. "-grown men and women, locked a child in prison, Azkaban of all places, when the law clearly states that such a happenstance would only be possible if and when the person in question _is_ a criminal, who has been proven guilty by the Wizengamot." He raised his eyes, challenging the Minister for a rebuke. "Or was that law changed, the few days I had been suspended from my Position, Cornelius?"

He, in the middle of his question, had stood up and now, had a solemn look on his face. "The decisions I have made proved to be the safest," Dolores huffed at this. "-for this young lad, and were made in his best interest. Again, as I've said, Cornelius, whatever the boy has confessed, I am sure, is nothing but the truth, and to prove that fact, I have suggested veritaserum."

"How would you consider it safe, when for years, this boy was treated like a slave!"

Harry flinched at the degrading comment. He was not a slave. Never. It was as if something had clamped on his throat, preventing him from speaking.

"He was safest there, for I myself have placed blood wards, which I'm sure, would ward against anyone who had the intention of harming him."

"A blood ward, you say." The minister considered the valuable piece of information… a minor glitch in his plans.

The woman to the minister's right then clicked her tongue and adjusted her monocles. "I tire of this babbling. We have no choice but to use the serum, otherwise subject him to a wizard's oath."

She cleared her throat. "The decision is yours, Mr Potter. Would you allow the use of veritaserum, which will force the truth out of your mouth? Despite the fact that your body might react badly to the potion?"

Harry was looking at Albus, and there they were, the voices. Albus Dumbledore was the reason why he had been locked in the cupboard under the stairs, he already knew that. But for a blood ward… He turned back to Amelia, and gave a nod to Fudge.

"Whether the boy is lying or telling the truth, we will find out soon enough.

"Veritaserum it is."

The court proceeded to interrogate the boy. Harry just counted himself lucky that he knew what to expect, having already experienced such a violation –for there truly was no other word for that vile potion– of his privacy. When all questions had been laid out and answered, a surprising amount of disgusting facts were left out in the open. It was only with Dumbledore's interference that Harry was able to go through the trial, still preserving most of his secrets. The Congress took a small break and Harry's cage lowered itself down to the ground.

It was rather obvious that the Harry had strained himself, now deathly pale and shivering.

The Aurors pointed their wand on the shackles and bounds that held him in place and started removing them.

"Harry, my boy." Dumbledore offered him the antidote and Harry drank it without question.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Harry?" Harry dropped the glass vial and it shattered on the floor. He forced his shaking fingers to still, clenching them into fists.

Harry turned his head away.

"The blood wards… what are they for?"

Dumbledore sighed. "This is neither the place nor time. You must-"

Harry cut him off with an empty laugh. "And when would you explain this to me? Why is it that I'm never told anything, even if it concerns me?"

The Aurors finished removing the binds. Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder.

"_Don't touch me!_" Harry hissed with a jerk, as if the mere touch of Dumbledore's fingers scalded him. Contempt ran across his mind, and though part of him realized that he should be ashamed for acting that way around Dumbledore, he couldn't bring himself to actually feel the emotion. Harry tried to inch away, ignoring the man and sinking even farther within himself.

"You… you want to save me, right Professor?"

Harry had wanted to add the word 'please' somewhere, but his pride stopped him. Dumbledore furrowed his brow at the bizarre question. Once more, there was the overwhelming sensation that Harry was decades older than he was in reality. For one instant, he sounded like a desperate, dying man. Dumbledore hesitated, barely, before telling the boy to look at him in the eye. He wanted to know.

Harry stopped moving altogether. What Dumbledore found was chilling. Harry's mind was a twisted reality, frozen and snow-blanketed, yet ravaged by fire and the tortured screams of a war-torn soul. In the heavens, the shattered remains of a great work of art floated. The glass was fragile and the beautiful order of things seemed to have been run over by a vehement storm. Suspicion rose within Dumbledore as he recalled the paradise the boy's mind had once been.

The flowers that had once bloomed and the trees that had been full of life were now all dead, crumbling at the gentlest of touches. The moon was red, flooding the scene with crimson light that touched everything save a small bed near a frozen pond, upon which a small photo album rested. He could not see anything else, except for a thick white fog that sunk the rest of Harry's mind into nothingness.

The thoughts were haphazardly strewn, and with luck, he found one that the boy had been vehemently screaming.

"I've done it before, but it's all because of-" Dumbledore probed further, but found the thoughts cut down, making it near-impossible to make sense of anything. "Must never-"

"Tom!"

A momentary flash of red was all that Dumbledore saw before he was violently wrenched out of the confines of the boy's desecrated mind.

Harry staggered and felt a sharp pain in his chest.

_Being naughty are we Harry?_

_I'm sorry Tom! I'm sorry… Please! I… I- I didn't mean it! I swear!_ Pain followed this. It started at his heart and spread out across his body, forcing him to choke back a scream.

_Oh, I'm sure you didn't mean it, Harry, but I have told you that what you've done has not left me the slightest bit pleased. I'm going to let you go, but don't be relieved, foolish child, there's more to come. _Harry found himself surrounded by a heavy blanket of comfort and then the intoxicating feel of what was Tom.

"I-" He staggered.

_I will see you soon, Harry._

Then he was gone.

He flinched, when a hand attempted to help him. All he could feel was a painful combination of hollow emptiness and frustration. There was Dumbledore, who was looking away from him, and countless of bodies, eyes.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry blinked. The medi-witches started checking his vitals. He batted them away, more intent on leaving the place, away from all the stares. The effort was wasted, because the moment he moved, the world tipped treacherously. He was too weak to resist when the Auror- Matthew? He actually didn't know. – pulled him back.

Colours overtook his vision, churning and eddying sickening. Despite this, Harry was thankful he was seeing something besides white. His mind flashed to waking up in the hospital, where everything was a hostile, impersonal white. Seeing his heart beating beneath the ruined layer of skin, valiantly working while being prodded by wands. Wands moving inside his body. And spells. Myriads of them.

Dumbledore followed behind him, cautiously, having reached a disturbing conclusion.

"Harry! God, I was so scared!"

Hermione wrapped her arms around him.

Harry gasped. "Hermione?"

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked- the obvious question.

_Me? Feeling?_

"Would you believe me if I said I was alright?" Hermione chuckled then, and Ron joined her. Pretty soon, Mrs. Weasley's arms were around him, telling him how much she wanted to jinx the Minister for doing this to a sweet boy like him. It _was_ Mrs. Weasley, right? Harry could distinguish nothing. Everything was just a blur of colours and sounds.

Harry was torn away from the gathering by one of the Aurors.

"Don't push me like that!" He growled, but the Aurors around him only laughed. He stumbled for a moment before trying to help himself to his feet. "There's something wrong with me…" he began, and then promptly started coughing up blood.

"Harry?"

"This is bad, we should take him back!"

Harry was unaware of the spectacle he was making of himself. All he knew was that the camera flashes practically blinded him. Then that noise! His head ached so much.

"Harry!" Someone shrieking out his name was the last thing he heard before he doubled over in pain. Familiar blackness rose up around him, taking up everything, even though he wanted to stay.

"You're taking him back there! Let us come with him, please!" Hermione pleaded, and the medi-witches told her to go to room 0164, before whisking the boy away, casting a _Mobliocorpus_ charm.

The Aurors who had accompanied him to the court room led him back outside with haste, apparating back to St. Mungo's. Dumbledore joined his staff, immersed in thoughts of the disturbing state of Harry's mind.

* * *

Many had thought that being Harry Potter was all fame, glory, and power. They all failed recognize the less than appealing loss of parents, becoming an orphan. He had lived when others hadn't, a cursed scar on his forehead, and a permanent label– a hero…

They had agreed that it was only fitting to leave the child's care to Albus Dumbledore, defeater of the Dark Lord, Grindelwald. The boy who vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was safe, coddled with warmth and joy and a family that was all too willing to have him.

This was not the reality of the situation. Countless people questioned Albus Dumbledore's sanity when he declared abuse as being the 'safest' choice for the boy. Wards, he said. It was true that wards were more effective if you had some sort of connection, especially by blood, or magic, or emotion. Whether or not the ward had been worth it was still under debate.

The muggle woman had insulted the young boy's parentage, and, of course, who wouldn't have retaliated? Dumbledore's decision resulted in the death of Marjorie Dursley.

Revealing these facts left no one in doubt of what the verdict would be – anything other than freedom would have resulted in a bloody rampage.

"There's something wrong about this, Ron." Hermione found herself fidgeting. "Don't you think, Harry… he's been acting sort of weird… No… I'm not saying now. Since before? Didn't you notice?"

Ron glanced back at the doors. He was too shocked to speak.

Draco was a ball of excitement, but he didn't allow it to show on his face. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

The hand of the clock struck three. The court room was full once more.

Harry had been enerverated, his face unnaturally pale and his head lolling to the side.

"Given the evidence at hand, and the severity of such actions, the verdict for the accused is _guilty._" More than half of the people in the stands stood up and shouted their disagreement.

"Guilty!"

"How can you say that?"

"You mindless buffoons!"

"He's innocent!"

"Yeah! You can't do this to him!"

Albus was surprised, having been fairly confident that the minister would not risk the public violently protesting a guilty verdict. The minister smiled thinly and waved his hand, signalling the Aurors to shoot sparks at the ceiling. The minister pointed his wand onto his throat and muttered the _Sonorous _charm once more.

"Harry Potter is guilty of all charges, however, let me finish." He tapped the podium and coughed.

"We believe that his imprisonment in Azkaban is punishment enough." Amelia smiled serenely. "Time served."

The crowd seemed appeased at this but a lot was still shouting incredulities. That the boy wasn't guilty and the ministry were a bunch of faggots.

"The boy, however, shall provide seventy-two hours of community service, along with a necessary change of guardians. Lucius Malfoy had been generous to offer such, abiding by Article fifteen, section five, page seventy-four of the International Confederation of Wizard's Book of Charters, 1745."

Albus saw the pieces come together and fought the growing idea inside his head.

"You cannot just hand the boy to whomever you chose, Cornelius! The child should sign the Magical Contract-"

"Which I can procure whenever I wish, Albus. Harry Potter, until he finds himself a suitable guardian that the ministry would approve of, will be placed under the care of Lucius Malfoy, for you have proven yourself unsuitable. His muggle relatives? Terribly so."

Albus knew that it wasn't within the Minister's power to decide, but with the whole Wizengamot against him, and Harry, he knew, certainly against whatever he originally had had in mind, it was a lost cause. The suspicion he had rose. Harry couldn't have signed that contract.

"I declare this trial finished. Mr. Potter, you are free to go."

The minister revelled in his small triumph, but his smile wore thin at the chaos that followed.

"You must have bribed your way Malfoy! No one in their right mind would think of giving Harry to you. Death Eater scum!" Arthur shouted. Molly stood behind him, tears in her eyes. Cameras flashed everywhere and arguments broke out above the stands.

"Is that an accusation I hear, you blood traitor?"

Lucius stood up and gave Arthur a look, ignoring the glares that were aimed at him. Draco followed suit. The young boy sneered.

"Well, at least my family has the means to bribe our way in, even though we didn't. It was no wonder _your_ family was rejected. You can barely feed the children that you have."

Ron's face reddened. He rushed forward and growled. "You take that back Malfoy!"

Lucius murmured something and pushed his way out of the throng of people, not before brushing invisible flecks of dirt off his robes. Someone fired a curse.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, who seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a lifeless shell. Was he… dead? The mark! Sirius Black… And this… Malfoy, signing the contract. Harry Potter would never have done do that.

Only one person was ingenious enough to have orchestrated such a farce without him suspecting until the very end. Had he truly _returned_? Harry was in grave danger. Something had to be done.

* * *

Sonia Merle Wenlock adjusted her frizzy hair, successfully having escaped the chamber- with the help of the ministry's kind Aurors- and soothed the sting on her arm. As expected, the decision had been met with outrage. Many people complained that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. Others thought that the whole situation proved that Lucius Malfoy was truly innocent- since the man had been rumoured to bribe his way out of Death Eater accusations- being more active with his charity works and liberal amounts of galleons put into the Ministry funds.

The decision was final however and for now, it was their victory. She sighed, fingering the black sphere in her pocket. Sonia Merle _Wenlock_. She laughed. All the Wenlocks were dead.

Vanishing into an alcove, she activated the portkey. Landing abruptly, she waved her hand around her person, grinning when the uncomfortable layer of spells were finally taken off. She kneeled in front of _Him_, still unable to believe how it had all happened, but found herself not caring because she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"My Lord."

A chorus of voices joined, and Tom Riddle, who was slowly fingering a yew wand, indulged everyone with a pleased smirk. He let waves of his magic work its way amongst his followers and stood pleased when they bowed themselves into submission. He had finally removed Harry from the clutches of the manipulative old codger, and he would see to it that the boy's trust would wane, until it was clear that he was the only choice Harry had.

He was sure that at some point, he had given himself away, but there was no proof, unless Dumbledore was willing to forcibly enter Harry's mind once more. Seeing such a thought as insignificant, he thought about other matters, like how the retrieval of his older self had gone, and their catch in Wadspurt. He waved his hand and motioned for his death eaters to stand. "Bring in the prisoners!"

A line of naked men and women were paraded in front of him. He eyed one in particular. The mudlood Auror who he'd reckoned was named, Tonks.

Revenge was sweet, but it could always get sweeter.

* * *

I got the quotation from Bertrand Russell. It seems to fit. Anyways, act 1 is finally finished… with, yes, I blink and stare stupidly at the monitor, another humongous word count. My longest chapter isn't beaten yet though, which amounts to 12-13k (edit: almost 16k now x3), but still. You've got admit, it's difficult to finish a trial without cutting some scenes.

Tom has his wand back! (Hyperventilates)... No, Wenlock isn't an OC but maybe she is, since she's supposedly Jugson.

ANYWAYS - thank you to loneangel1016 who helped me sort through my thoughts for this chapter. And thank you to Crim for her wonderful betaing – kukuku

If you have any other questions, or suggestions, or criticisms (I'd like more of that actually), feel free to click that violet button and type a review

* * *

**Word count: **(approx)** 8641**

**Draft started:** May 10, 2008**  
**

**Draft finished: **May 30, 2008

**Revised: **June 26, 2008


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